I am on a highly functional autopilot. So good, so realiatic you can hardly tell. Camouflaging in with the rest of the herd, I am racing through the daily shuffle.

Autopilot doesn’t care what I should do, what I want to do, only what I have to do in order to keep going. When You never actively control your own body, mind, time becomes confusing.

For some reason, it’s always Friday. Weeks start and end and flow together and months go by like hours.

At least nothing is terrible. Nothing is great either. Thank goodness everything is easy. If it wasn’t I might have already broken.

I thought sufficiency or evwn mild success would lead to an increase in happiness , but I was niave. I thought that things I was doing were the problem. Turns out is was me that was wrong. I was the problem all along.

My hands are shaking. Why? Why do I want to hit my head repeatedly? Oh right…it is Monday morning. Damn it. Rage, at myself, sweeps through my body. “Do your homework, do your chores, tell him you like him, talk to your friends” part of me cries. “For some reason people like you! Just try harder.“But it’s drowned by clouds of all consuming panic. The clouds have voices, louder than any other thought, and they are shouting, “They are pretending, nobody could like you. Don’t embarrass yourself, he would never want you. Your family only likes you because they have to.” And all hope drips down my cheeks and splashes into the sea of tears accumulating around my pillow. I want to rip my skin off. My body is a prison. I feel disconnected to it. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t hurt when I smash my fist into my head over and over. Any intelligence I may have is restrained by my crippling anxiety. I don’t understand how I am even a functional human being. How can I go to school and smile and talk to people, then go home and calculate how painful it would be to jump out of my bedroom window or how many pills would it actually the to get me into the hospital. It’s fucked up, but the thought of being in a hospital in physical pain sounds comforting. I’d much prefer it to the mental torture that happens every day of my life. I just wish somebody knew. Nobody can help, it’s all self inflicted, but I wish I wasn’t so alone. I wish I could call someone late at night instead of gorging myself on peppermints for the sole reason of making myself sick. Help. I can’t go to sleep. Help.

Happiness: Should it really be a luxury? I think not, but it’s incredible how many times people have dismissed my unhappiness with, “Well you’re not going to be happy all of the time.” Of course I understand that, but I shouldn’t have to be rich, talented, or ingenious to be happy for at least 50% of my life. Why should only certain people deserve to be happy?

( By now it has become apparent that I have written the word ‘happy’ an excessive amount of times ).

Back to ‘Luxury’. It means “extravagant living” or “wealthy”. Happiness should not apply. Unfortunately, many people treat it as such.

So on Wednesday I auditioned for the school musical at my high school (I am a sophomore) and I was super excited. I had gotten dressed up and was all ready to be Sally from You’re A Good man Charlie Brown The Musical. But as soon as I got on stage I started to shake. Not butterflies, but physical shaking, and when I tried to sing, my voice shook and I couldn’t remember key changes. Hours upon hours of practicing, singing, and dancing was wiped from my memory. I had memorized my lyrics completely, yet suddenly, I didn’t know a single word. My voice shook so much that I was was shrill and sharp when I was loud and when I wasn’t sharp I was either too quiet, or paralyzed from fear. I sang a total of four songs, convincing myself to get over my anxiety. It hadn’t been a problem last year, after all. Unfortunately, all four times I ended the audition fake smiling like a maniac. Everyone knew it was fake. First I’d start silently crying, then I’d hide behind my lyric book, wipe away the tears, and plaster on a smile, trying to be strong. Unfortunately I was so absolutely panicked that my mouth twitched whenever I tried to smile. It makes me both furious and pathetic that I can’t control my performance anxiety. Not the actual performance, but rather audition, when I know there is something to lose. I feel like I fail myself once again and it frustrates my so incredibly much. I also feel as if I’ve wasted the director’s time and let them down, while also making an absolute fool of myself. As a child I had always wanted to be a singer, and as of late I’ve been ashamed to even try.
So, I was just wondering if anyone else had experienced some thinking similar or had any advice.